


Math Teacher AU

by drowninglinguists



Series: Math Teacher AU [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6523558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowninglinguists/pseuds/drowninglinguists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is literally just a trash AU in my head because I'm obsessed with modern aus. In this one Temari and Shikamaru are math teachers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> I literally always start everything by just jumping into dialogue so let's just fucking start--

“You’re new around here, aren’t you?”

 

She bristles automatically, defensive, snaps at the new voice behind her, “So  _ what if I am _ ?”

 

Unperturbed, apparently, by her rude tone, he leans around her to fiddle with the vending machine. “Everyone around here knows this machine eats every dollar bill put into it,” he presses buttons, shakes it a bit, as though  _ she _ hasn’t already done that, “it only takes change.”

 

He steps back, still not looking at her, producing a handful of quarters from his pocket. He puts five into the coin slot, copying her number and letter selection, presumably because he watched her push the buttons the first time.

 

_ So he had been watching her _ .

 

Swallowing her irritation, she nods. “Thanks.”

 

She moves to bend to retrieve her snack, but he’s doing it for her. She has an excellent view of his bum as he bends over, which she looks at for  _ barely _ three seconds. She has more than enough time to rearrange her gaze and target it for his face before he’s standing back up.

 

She smiles politely, taking the bag of dried fruit from him. “So, you just carry those around with you every day?”

 

“What?” He seems startled by the question, put-off--though not in a negative way. Genuinely and singularly surprised, as if he’s never been asked such a perceptive question.

 

She cannot hide her smirk. “So you just walk around her every day, teaching, walking through the desks in your classroom,  _ jingling _ ?”

 

He stops, opens his mouth to say something, and then seems to think better of it. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

 

There’s a smile pulling up one corner of his mouth.

 

Temari can’t help but notice he’s got a nice smile.

 

“Here,” she recovers from the moment--her traitorous, too analtycial for its own good processing the fact, despite her attempt to ignore it and forget it ever happened, that he was staring right back at her as she stared at him--and reaches for her wallet. She pulls out two dollars, but he’s already stepping back.

 

“It’s alright--”

 

“I insist.” It’s the firmness of her voice, she’s sure that throws him off--as it throws off most men. Taking advantage of his surprise--again, as she’s been trained to all her life to pray on the hesitation of men--she pushes the bills into his chest.

 

She moves to step away, but he speaks again. Like an insect drawn inexplicably to its own death, she steps back. Unconsciously, she’s stepped closer to him than she was before.

 

“This is more than it cost, seventy-five cents more.” His eyes are burning. They’re mesmerizing.

 

“It’s a tip,” she jokes, more breathless than she’d like to realize.

 

He’s handsome up close, a strong jawline and high cheekbones decorate his face, deep-set eyes, dark and intelligent, thick black hair pulled into a high ponytail.

 

She wouldn’t mind being this close to him again.

 

The realization startles her enough that she steps back, ducking her head with a manufactured smile. “Thank you again.”

 

She turns around and, without looking back at him once, more or less runs from the room--away from him and her racing heart.

 

\--

 

“Dammit,” a voice is grumbling.

 

It’s a familiar timbre of a voice, unique, and though its gruffness isn’t the reason she remembers it for, the recognition of said voice does change the direction of her feet with disappointing ease. So much for avoiding a snack today.

 

He’s on the floor, that same teacher from yesterday who’s name she never got--never asked and never offered, both of their faults, both of their conscious decisions not to formally meet--arm shoved underneath the vending machine.

 

She finds herself grinning, settling in to lean against the doorframe and observe his struggles.

 

“Fucking--  _ This is my last quarter _ \--”

 

He hasn’t noticed her yet. In his struggles to retrieve his apparently lost quarter, he attempts to shove his arm under the narrow gap between it and the floor. Something--his bicep--seems to be impeding the action, however.

 

His struggles continue for another thirty seconds, and finally Temari cannot stand it anymore.

“Problem?” She chimes.

 

There’s some sort of sound that comes from him--she might call it a masculine squeak--and he yanks his arm from underneath the machine. He rises to his knees, eyes lifting to meet hers.

 

“Er,” he says. He takes a minute to get to his feet, dusting off his trousers, and at last stands tall with a half-step toward her. She watches a hand rise to rub his neck out of the corner of her eye; it only stretches her smirk.

 

“I can help,” she says, instead of the other ten sarcastic or snarky things she’d planned to say.

 

Marching past him, Temari rolls up the sleeve of her left arm and lowers herself onto the floor with grace, almost like a failed push up. Her arms fits easily under the machine, and her fingers grasp quickly for the quarter lost underneath it. Her success comes quickly, and she stands again, presenting the quarter like it were a dubloon, lost for centuries and worth far more than twenty-five cents.

 

But he doesn’t move. For several, long seconds. Temari waits as long as she can, but she is not a patient woman (just ask her students).

 

“Your quarter,” she says unnecessarily, to get him to stop staring at her like he’s not quite sure if she’s real.

 

“Thanks,” he says, taking it from her at last.

 

A sudden, palpable and horribly thick awkward air appears, out of nowhere, oblivious to Temari’s attempts to ignore it.

 

If there’s one thing she hates more than waiting, it’s awkwardness, so she lets her mouth move, asking the question she promised herself she wouldn’t ask. “Now that we’ve both done each other favors, I think it’s time we meet. You are?”

 

He takes a minute too long to answer, but the awkwardness is gone. “Mr. Nara, er, Shikamaru-- math department.”

 

“I’m Temari,” she finds herself smiling, “I also teach math. AP Calculus.”

 

“What a coincidence,” his voice is dry but his mouth is smiling as he reaches for her extended hand. They shake once and it might be on both of them that they take a second too long to let go.

 

“Did you--” He clears his throat, and his hand is on his neck again, “want something from the machine, or?”

Temari shakes her head, a sound that  _ could _ be understood to be a laugh tumbling out from behind her smiling teeth. “No, I don’t.”

 

“Were you--”

 

“See you around, Mr. Nara.” She turns away, again without letting him finish, again without saying a proper good-bye.

 

The rest of the day she has to prevent herself from actually _asking_ _after him_. Her friend, Mrs. Yamanaka, is the AP Psychology teacher, and though she’s not even in the same department as Temari and Mr. Nara, she _has_ been here longer and Temari can convince herself it’s enough logical evidence to deduce that she’s probably met Mr. Nara before.

 

The urge doesn’t fade with time. It’s a day-long struggle to prevent herself from asking.

 

She supposes, that night with a letter sitting on her coffee table sitting entirely too close to a glass of water that’s going to sweat and ruin it that’s stealing her sleep almost as much as Mr. Nara and his nervous habit, that she’s not quite as good at ignoring things as she thought she was.

\--

 

Ino’s advice flying through her head, Temari assures herself for the tenth time that it’s a  _ perfectly natural _ thing to sit next to a colleague at lunch. They  _ don’t _ have to be the same gender, and, as Ino proves, they don’t have to be in the same department. There’s nothing  _ weird _ about sitting next to him. She walked in, got her lunch, saw him, and since Ino isn’t here yet and she has a tough time making friends-- he’s the closest thing she’s got to an amicable lunch time conversation.

 

“Mr. Nara,” her voice is too loud to her own ears, but he doesn’t seem startled--for once--but her presence.

 

His gaze catches her again and she has to fight every reaction inside her that wants to look away. Such effort chases the ten good excuses she had from her head, though. “Hi,” she says instead, “is it alright if I--”

 

“Yes.”

 

The eagerness in his voice isn’t lost on either of them, and there’s a beat of--not awkwardness--but something like  _ pressure _ in the three seconds before she sits down.

 

Her ankles cross, left over her right, and she chooses not to pay notice to the way his eyes catch on the way her skirt hugs her thighs with her sitting.

 

“You got a sandwich.” He says, looking embarrassed enough that, where his shirt not red and easily able to reflect the hue onto his pale skin, might be him blushing.

 

“I did.” She confirms. “So did you.”

 

“Roast beef,” Mr. Nara says, “my favorite is turkey, but they were out.”

 

“Turkey,” she repeats, filing away the information right next to the fact that she’s  _ bad _ at ignoring things lately and she wonders if it’s more to do with her attraction to her fellow math teacher or the law firm that keeps wondering where her father is, “that figures. Mine’s chicken and avocado.”

 

He nods, bites into his sandwich and says nothing more.

 

She follows suit, and they eat in amicable silence.

 

“I had this student today,” he says, “that failed the exam. They stayed after and handed me a blank sheet of paper.”

 

Temari feels her blood pressure rising just at the thought--she was wrong before, there  _ is _ something that annoys her more than awkwardness,  _ laziness _ \--but all she does is scoff and nod for him to continue.

 

“So I said, ‘You didn’t do anything.’ And they said, ‘I didn’t understand anything.’ And I said, ‘There was a study session hosted by Mr. Sarutobi Tuesday after school, why didn’t you go?’ And they said, ‘Mr. Nara, you don’t understand. I’m supposed to be in Geometry.’”

 

Temari stops, blinking. “What?”

 

“They walked into the wrong classroom.” Mr. Nara explains, a smile pulling at his mouth again (though one she did not cause). “But they sat the entire period, too afraid to get up and walk out of the room.”

 

She shakes her head, less amused at the student than she is at Mr. Nara. She wouldn’t have been so lenient; students should know their class schedule by the third week of school. “Freshman,” she says, picking mildly at her fruit cup with the plastic fork provided by their cheap school board who seems to think creating landfill waste is better than buying real silverware.

 

He makes a single sound, an  _ mm _ of agreement, that produces a new timbre, adds a new level of tone to his palette of vocal ability. It’s a nice sound.

 

“The teacher next to me,” she starts, “is  _ horrible _ . His students are always loud, every period, every day. I have to constantly restrain myself from marching in there and asking if he’s teaching math or conducting a physical education class.” She puts down her sandwich, gesturing with her hands in her exuberant disapproval. “Turns out one of my students had him last year, so I asked her why his class was always so loud. And do you know she told me?”

 

Temari leans toward him, in an almost conspiratorial fashion. “He  _ never _ gives homework. Not one assignment, the entire year. What kind of teacher can you be if you don’t give homework?” She shakes her head again, pulling back--too close to him, her brain finally realized, she was too close to him--and tries to resume as normally as possible, though she’s averted her gaze from him now.

 

“I have half a mind to march in there for an entirely different reason and ask to see his test scores, his average class grade. I hold myself back, though. I haven’t been teaching long; this is only my fifth year. What about you?”

 

“It’s my sixth,” he nods, though he sounds somewhat distracted now.

 

She nods, files this away as well. This only confirms that he’s older than her.

 

Whatever’s got his tongue, she isn’t going to force him to speak if he doesn’t want to. Besides, it’s a good opportunity to finish her sandwich before the avocado soaks the bread.

 

She’s just swallowed the last of it when he speaks.

 

“I think,” he looks at her at last again, though she can’t tell if he’s smiling or frowning (mostly because she’s having difficulty looking away from his eyes), “that the next time you think his class is too loud, you should go on and ask him to quiet down. It’s considered a courtesy if you do it right.”

 

“You think so?” She sounds skeptical; she comes off as rude much more often than courteous.

 

He nods. “That way, when you come in, I can ask my class to be quieter.”

 

Had she still been holding her sandwich, it would’ve fallen out of her hand. The teacher who’s been annoying her and the teacher who’s gotten her interest are one in the same man?! This is just the sort of thing she was trying to  _ avoid _ by starting over, transferring to a new school, far  _ far _ away--

 

“My class average is an 83%, by the way.”

 

He doesn’t sound mad exactly, but something about him is  _ definitely _ offended.

 

She opens her mouth to say something, to apologize, at the very least to explain, but no sound comes out. To Mr. Nara’s credit, he waited for her to say something, showing more patience than she ever has even in her best moments, but when no sound comes out and she closes her mouth, he stands and walks away. There’s no hurry to his gait, but she  _ does _ notice some annoyance, something heavy she’s never before seen him wear.

 

The guilt she’s shit at ignoring as well.

 

\--

 

September 22nd, and the colorful banner  _ Happy birthday, Mr. Nara! _ greets her in the staffroom in the morning. It sours her mood, causes her to put too much sugar in her coffee, and her first period class asks what’s wrong with her no less than four times. They’re her favorite class, and she wasn’t  _ mad _ exactly that they asked, but she may have been mistaken when she snapped  _ If we have time to chat about out of class activities, then I suppose you’re all ready for the test. It’s tomorrow now _ .

 

Of course, she isn’t one to apologize for things she’s done and the hurts looks on her students’ faces remind her, again, of that letter, still on her coffee table, which somehow escaped the fate of the sweating water glass. It’s just like her life, for the things she doesn’t want to survive to remain perfectly in tact while the things she enjoys turn to dust with her mistakes.

 

In her sixth period class, who she’s just delivered the unfortunate news of the test being moved to tomorrow to--because it’s simply unethical to have the test on different days for her classes as it opens the door to cheating and is unfair to her sixth period--despite the fact that she can recognize her sixth period is less prepared than her first it happens.

 

The party.

 

It comes out of nowhere, booming through her wall like a stampede of elephants,  _ Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday Mr. Nara, Happy birthday to you _ followed by cheers, somehow louder still, that Temari will never get, and not only because her birthday is during the summer.

 

She gives up teaching completely, frozen and listening to his students sing for him, staring at the door. The door, which she’s closed, and closes before every class, has a small window pane near the top. Through this window, small though it is, she sees confetti float to the ground.

 

Temari swallows, and returns, lackluster, to the explanation of problem fourteen.

 

Her sixth period, who thankfully does not hate her yet, has four hands raised after the explanation. Thinking it’s about math, she quickly calls on them.

 

“Robert?”

 

“Are you alright, Miss Temari?”

 

“Yes, but you won’t be on your test if you can’t figure this out. Anyone else?”

 

“Holly?”

 

“Are you  _ sure _ you’re alright, Miss Temari, you look sad.”

 

“I’m not. I promise.” The words come easily, as her father assured she would speak, “Do you know the answer?”

 

Holly shakes her head.

 

“Ben?” She calls on him, whose hand is still in the air.

 

“But you don’t  _ look _ alright.”

 

She sighs, shaking her head. “Do you know the answer?”

 

Ben just frowns, which Temari to mean ‘no’.

 

McKenzie raises her hand suddenly. She’s a student Temari can usually count on to answer questions, so it’s with a smile she calls on her.

 

Instead of learning that McKenzie knows how to solve this problem, she learns the girl is particularly brave. “Do you know Mr. Nara, Miss Temari? Is that why you keep looking over there? You wish you could be there right now at his party?” 

 

To that, she laughs. “No, McKenzie. But I don’t suppose you know the answer?”

 

McKenzie doesn’t.

 

Sixth period ends after ten more minutes. Temari  _ did  _ manage to get them back on track, but then all the questions became about math and she was forced to conclude two things: her sixth period was not ready for the exam, thus her first was not either, and that she owed her first period an apology. Maybe she’d bring in cookies or something. Her students would probably like that.

 

She spends twenty-two minutes after her students file aimlessly out of her room, eager to go home, no doubt, to their families with two parents and without restraining orders, shuffling papers and talking to herself about being more careful around her students. Her inability to control her face didn’t excuse her from being personal in the classroom.

 

At  _ 3:28 _ , a full ten minutes after she usually leaves for the day, she ventures out into the hallway. Mr. Nara, who she’s just learned is the teacher next door to her, who leaves promptly at  _ 3:10 _ every day, is hopefully gone by now and she can take a moment to relax and plan out how exactly she’s going to apologize to her first period.

 

She steps to the right, to check for certain if he’s left his classroom, but instead of finding it empty she finds his eyes, and again, despite the lunch disaster yesterday, he stares at her as though he cannot quite believe she’s there.

 

It’s gotten her into trouble before, her impulsivity, but her feet move toward him.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says, “obviously I didn’t know it was  _ you _ or I would’ve-- But that doesn’t excuse my actions.” She stands up straight, face hardening. “It was rude no matter who I told it to or thought it about. And I’m sorry I was so careless and uncouth. I’ll do better in the future, after all we teach the same thing so it’d be difficult to never speak again, though I’ll understand if you’d rather not. And I’ll try to respect that, I really can’t blame you for me being so ru--”

 

“Excuse me,” her tone changes entirely, “are you  _ laughing _ ?”

 

He is. He’s chuckling. He’s laughing at her.

 

“Now I don’t feel so badly.”

 

He snorts, loudly, but this does nothing at all to assuage his amusement.

 

Thoroughly unamused, Temari crosses her arms and she waits.

 

The clock, conveniently located behind his head, ticks eighteen seconds before he stops laughing. “You’re so  _ severe _ . Try relaxing a little more. You don’t need to bury your apology in a mountain of self-scorn. It’s not that big of a deal, though I do appreciate the apology.”

 

She swallows, crossing the classroom toward him (again with the impulsivity). “You’re welcome. And I didn’t just do it because it’s your birthday, you know.”

 

“I didn’t think you did,” he says, wearing the smile she’s come to be familiar with in only three days.

 

“Happy birthday,” she says, though it feels a bit redundant, “how old are you?”

 

“Twenty-six. It’s young, I know, but--”

 

“Twenty- _ six _ ? I thought you were-- I--” With an enormous effort to stop herself from saying something rude, she stops and starts over. “I thought you were older than me, is all.”

“How old are you?” He asks. “You had a birthday over the summer, didn’t you? It was in the faculty news letter.”

 

“Twenty-nine,” she says, impressed, despite her embarrassment, that he has such a good memory.

 

He says nothing, just looks at her.  _ Again _ with the just looking at her. The most unnerving thing about it was her just looking back at him, even worse than the fact that she didn’t want him to stop, that she  _ liked _ him looking at her. She was reciprocating, and reciprocating meant--

 

He steps forward, a long, confident step she’s never seen him take. Not that she’s seen him walk much, but when he left the lunch room, and when they were in the teacher’s lounge, he’d always sort of slouched. But now, this close to him and with him standing up straight, she could see that he is tall.

 

“I…” She says, but her voice drops out at the end. All the oxygen in her lungs is being stolen by his closeness, all the blood she’d normally use to run away from this situation circulated over and over through her quickly-beating heart, heating her face.

 

“I think you should go out with me,” he’s blunt about it, “I think you want to. Will you?” But there’s vulnerability in his voice when he asks.

 

“Friday.” She says, agreeing several  _ minutes _ before she understands the consequences of accepting his proposal.

 

“That’s great,” he grins, “now, could you move, you’re blocking my…”

 

She doesn’t cut him off this time; he  _ trails _ off. She’s acting without thought, impulse rocketing through her brains much faster than the oxygen her brain now seems to be depraved of to allow her to act on  _ this _ , taking away the half-step that remained between them, tilting her head, half closing her eyes…

 

She gets close enough, loses control enough, to feel his breath on her face, to notice that his eyes are closing too.

 

It’s too much, and Temari jumps back on the point of her black heels.

 

“Friday,” she says, clearing her throat, “after school. Okay?”

 

He must not notice the shameful amount of vulnerability in her own voice. But maybe he does and he doesn’t care, for there’s a red tint to his face his green shirt cannot account for, a blush on his cheeks that matches the one she feels on hers.

 

“Definitely.” He breathes, as though it’s hard for him to talk too.

 

At last, Temari runs from the room. But the speed of her exit does not keep her smile from being noticed, or keep Mr. Nara’s smile from lingering in her mind when she attempts sleep that night.


	2. In which shit begins to hit the fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Attraction is a powerful thing-- not quite love at first sight, but there's something about Shikamaru that makes Temari say yes, anyway.   
> Her first date proves to be a night to remember, confirming that her instincs about him were right. She has a lot of fun, really. She gets kissed and she feels a lot of things she hasn't felt in a while. It was kind of perfect, in a wholly unperfect way.   
> That's exactly why she doesn't check her mail, so as not to ruin their first date.

“So I’d just like to say sorry to you guys,” she confesses, wearing a sheepish smile she hopes her students take for apologetic because it’s the closest she gets, “I was unfair to you yesterday, and I’m moving the test back to tomorrow.”

The collective sigh of relief her first period gives makes her laugh. “I wasn’t that bad… was I?”

“Um,” says McKenzie, a word which might not have proved her bravery all over again were it not for the fact that McKenzie is the only one who said anything at all.

Exhaling, Temari leans against her desk and regards her first period for a long moment. She is aware that her temper is quite something to deal with, but she didn’t mean to genuinely upset her students, or remove any sort of potential for a good teacher-student relationship throughout the course of the semester. If she was really that bad, her behavior demands more than words of apology; she must act, too.

 _Hmm_ ing to herself, she tries to fight her better instincts to cheerfully move on to the last part of the unit which will also be on the exam. She doesn’t have much leverage for convincing herself to go for it, until she thinks of lunch that day. And the fact that she could tell Shikamaru–if she wanted to–that she’s making a real effort to soften up as an instructor.

She bets he’ll smile at the news. It’s the sort of thing he does all the time, isn’t it? And add into that his feelings for her–presumable because of the date they agreed to at the end of the week–the smile will probably be bright.

And he does have a nice smile.

“Extra credit,” she gives in, as her eyes unconsciously stray for the wall connecting hers and Mr. Nara’s classrooms, “two points.”

The certifiable _cheer_ her students give she thinks is a bit excessive, but she supposes extra credit really _is_ quite nice of her to do. So who is she to judge their happy reaction?

Smiling, she waits for the noise to die down before she asks them to pull out their textbooks to actually get to the material planned for today. However, she doesn’t get the chance.

Her classroom door, the one with the small window, opens just then. Such a small window did not prepare her, give her nearly enough time to process who was coming into her classroom.

“We’re trying to take a test,” Mr. Nara says, lounging quite comfortably against the doorframe, “I’d appreciate it if you could quiet your class, Miss Temari.”

It takes her a second, around the action of her heart _leaping_ into her throat, to speak. “Sorry. Quiet down, okay guys? Mr. Nara’s students are taking an exam.”

She hears the collective mutter of her students agreeing flow through her classroom, but it’s like background noise, staticy in her ears, introduction to the main show of her pounding heartbeat and Shikamaru’s teasing smirk.

“Chapter two?” He asks–he’s stalling, lingering to speak to her longer–, “We finished yesterday, that’s why we were able to have the song. Looks like my students move faster than yours, Miss Temari.”

“Is that a challenge?” Her throat seems to be adapting to the sensation of speaking past an organ. “For chapter three?”

Mr. Nara stands straight. “Make of it what you will.”

He’s so _arrogant_ standing there like that. _One_.

Who does he think he is? I’ve been teaching longer than he has– _Two_.

My students will do better on the exam, even if his finished first– _Three_.

You can stare at him later, Temari– _Four_

She makes herself turn away, before he’s even gone out of her doorway. “Moving forward,” she says briskly, walking to the center of the room where she usually stands, “turn to page ninety-two. The contents of the last section of the chapter _will_ also be on the exam.”

Only by making herself not look back at Shikamaru does she manage to get out the textbook and not miss the desk she tries to put it down on. The impulse races through her again, to look back up at him, but before she can lose the fight the door closes.

With him gone and a successful interaction carried out, she feels pleased with the morning.

She smiles, to herself, then looks at her class still bearing the same expression. “Let’s be quieter now. But I’m sure the only sound in here will be the whir of all of your brain as they come to comprehend this material.”

As she begins the lecture for the day, she misses the knowing looks exchanged between some of her students.

–

Today should be no different. There’s absolutely no need for today to be any different. She sat next to him yesterday, and she can sit next to him today. The fact that they have a date planned for Friday night doesn’t change lunch arrangements.

Still, she summons her bravery before approaching his table.

“Can I sit here?” She asks.

Maybe the most confident thing to do would be to simply sit down, but asking seems polite, and she just doesn’t think she’s _there_ yet, ready to assume anything about any of her relationships with anyone at this point.

Shikamaru looks up immediately, shares her gaze for a long moment.

He’s sitting with someone else, a chubby history teacher she doesn’t know, and she should probably look at him too, be polite and friendly and everything, but she can’t quite make herself today.

“Yeah,” Shikamaru says at last, “go ahead.”

Only just refraining from saying _thank you_ , Temari reaches for the top of the chair to pull it out for herself. Before she can grab it, though, she blames having to shift her lunch from her right hand to her left and the time it took, Shikamaru’s hand is on it first. She watches, stunned, an emotion that hopefully isn’t easily readable on her face, as he pulls it out for her.

The dreaded, too-polite _thank you_ bubbles in her throat again, and with how hard she swallows it forcibly down, she ends up sitting too hard. The chair gives an awful _screech_ as it slides across the cheap linoleum floor, but it doesn’t earn even a raised eyebrow from either Shikamaru or his friend.

 _Relax_ , she tells herself, _this is teacher’s lunchroom, not a court date._

“You know that essay I assigned?” Shikamaru’s chubby friend is saying, “Only half the class did it. Now I feel like I shouldn’t grade it at all. I don’t want half the class to go home with F’s on their quarter reports. The essay was worth a lot of points, too…”

“Man, that’s annoying,” Shikamaru says, shaking his head.

“It was supposed to be an easy thing, just an essay about themselves and what their favorite part of American History was… It was supposed to be bolster their grade…”

Unless she’s completely lost her perception of other people, it would appear that Shikamaru’s friend is beginning to cry.

“It’s not your fault,” Shikamaru says, seemingly unfazed by these sudden tears, “your students deserve to fail this.”

“But I don’t _want_ them to!” Sniffs the chubby man, pulling a kleenex from nowhere and blowing his nose into it with a mighty horn-like sniff. “Why can’t they just _try harder_?”

“It’s–” Shikamaru’s fumbling, messily patting his friend’s shoulder, “it’s not your fault though, don’t blame yourself, you’ve just got to…”

He’s sinking, probably drowning in all the snot pouring out of his friend’s nose.

Temari finds herself jumping in before she knows what’s good for her. “Listen, Shikamaru’s right. It’s not your fault at all. You have lazy kids this year, that’s all. You’ve just got to change your teaching style a bit, get them to do the work because they respect you enough to get done what you ask them to. And if they still don’t– that’s on them, not you. I’m sure you’re a _great_ teacher.”

The sniffing man looks up, still blubbering, eyes wet and nose red. “You think so?”

Temari nods. “Yeah, I really do. You teach history, right?”

He nods again.

“I think some of my students have you; they were talking about the paper and how easy it was. Just like you meant it to be.”

A smile smile blossoms on his face amidst his sniffing. “Exactly. I just wanted to help them out.”

“You did,” Temari adds gently, “that’s exactly what you did to those students who deserved your kindness.”

He sniffs again, wipes at both his eyes with the kleenex, and then offers her a smile. “You must be Temari.”

“I–” All her composure slips away in an instant. “Yes, I–”

“I’m Chouji, Mr. Akimichi, I teach American History.”

“Nice to meet you,” she manages, with unnatural pauses. “I’m–”

“Shikamaru told me about you,” Chouji grins, “he didn’t say you were so kind, though.”

“I don’t think he–”

“That’s right! You met three days ago, so I guess he didn’t _know_ that about you.” Grinning possibly wider than he was before, Chouji elbows Shikamaru. “Looks like I found out something about your girlfriend _before_ you did, Shikamaru.”

Shikamaru scoffs, but his face is turning red and it, along with his half smile, ruins the effect. “Shut up, man. We just met.”

Blinking, Temari tries to find her voice again. “It’s– it’s true. We met the vending machine. He gave me quarters.”

Shikamaru nods, hand reaching for the back of his neck. “Yeah, we–”

“ _You_ must be Temari!” A new voice says, elbowing her way between Chouji and Shikamaru to grin at Temari. “Nice to meet you.”

“What are you–”

But Ino doesn’t let her finish. “For the first time!” She laughs, too loudly, and sits on Chouji’s side of the table. “Wow, you’re so pretty! What do you teach?”

“Math,” Temari says carefully, eying Ino. Her skepticism is budding, but she’s going along with it. “What do you teach?”

“Psychology!” Ino’s normally chirpy voice has reached bird-like potential. Turning to Shikamaru, she offers him a wide smile. “We’ve never met before, or anything. First time meeting her! I didn’t know her name before you told me it yesterday!”

Stealing a glance at Shikamaru, Temari notices his unimpressed glare leveled straight at Ino. Amusement flares up in her belly, and she smacks his arm lightly. “She didn’t _know_ who I was when we met. It’s not her fault.”

Ino’s sudden beaming smile distracts her from noticing Shikamaru’s reaction. “I knew I liked you. Good instincts. You defend people without thinking about it.”

“Yeah,” Temari says, shrugging, “it’s just how I am.”

“Are you an elder sister?” Ino inquires. “That would make sense if you were–”

“I–” Nerves are sprouting along her esophagus.

“You don’t have to answer that.” Shikamaru’s voice cuts across her silence effectively. “It’s none of our business.”

“Shikamaru–” Ino complains, but his glare shuts her up quickly. “Fine, fine.”

Turning to Shikamaru, Temari mutters a quiet, “Thank you.” And this one he fully deserves. She doesn’t know _how_ he got that she doesn’t like talking about her family, but somehow he did and she’s grateful.

He nods once. This close together–had she leant toward him?–she can see the worry in his eyes, the slight frown of his mouth that seems to be from more than having to yell at his friend.

She’s not sure what her own face reflects, but she bets part of it is confusion–why was he being like this to her? she barely knew him–and that there’s a good deal of intrigue in her gaze. He was just _interesting_ , how he acted, the way he behaved around his friends, how she could tell from _five minutes_ around them how _opposite_ they were from him.

No wonder she didn’t put it together that Ino knew him–

“Hey!” Temari’s brain finally processes the bit of knowledge that Ino lied to her. She slams her hand on the table, drawing an _eep_ from Chouji, and turns her glare on her blonde friend.

Or who she _thought_ was her friend.

“You lied to me!”

Ino holds up her hands, fork still clutched in her right. Some lettuce flutters back into the bowl. “Not _really_. I didn’t know you were talking about _Shikamaru_ all those times. Though maybe I should have guessed. He is _really_ lax with his students.”

Shikamaru stumbles verbally, torn between the two pieces of information. “I am _not_ that bad!”

“You could’ve _said_ you knew him–”

“It never crossed my mind! We were talking about other stuff! Weddings and psychology and sports and then we started talking about travelling and– I forgot, Temari! Sue me!”

With a sharp exhale, Temari forces herself to calm down. “You’re right, Ino. I’m sorry.”

She watches the air, rather comically, deflate out of Ino. “It’s okay.”

“And besides,” Ino continues, flipping her hair and smiling, “ _you_ could’ve told me you liked him. I’d have set you two up already.”

“We met three days ago, that’s already pretty fast–” Temari starts.

“Hey, when you know, you know.” Ino smiles, starting on her salad again. “When I some day meet the man I will marry and fall for him in ten minutes, I bet I’ll feel the same way you do.”

“Okay, hold on–” Temari holds up her hands.

At the same time, Shikamaru says, “You’re the only one who said anything about–”

She looks at him, letting her hands fall. She can easily fill in the rest of his sentence, just as she’s sure he can fill in hers. She doesn’t need him to finish. She relaxes.

Turning back to Ino, Temari says, “We were talking about _your_ wedding. Don’t manipulate things to make them embarrassing for us.”

Ino simply smiles, apparently unembarrassed. “Fine, fine. But if you were going out already, I wouldn’t have to. You both like each other, so what’s stopping you?” She asks the question to Temari, but her eyes stare coolly at Shikamaru.

He only offers her a shrug. “Regardless, it’s not your business, Ino. Temari,” he turns to her, “we have that department meeting. We better go.”

“Right,” she says, with only a half second of pause, “see you guys later. Nice to meet you, Chouji.”

Chouji’s cheerful _Nice to meet you too!_ follows them out of the room.

Surprising herself by not stopping them right away and demanding to know why he lied about there being a math department meeting, she walks along with him in silence.

She doesn’t feel the need to speak, picking pieces off her sandwich to eat. Student are walking by, but she isn’t paying them much attention; after all, she can walk with a colleague without raising suspicion.

She thinks she knows where they’re going anyway, and when they don’t stop until they get back to the math section of the building, she smirks at being correct. This door has another little window, but a _please knock_ sign blocks it.

He holds the door to the office open; she catches his eye when she walks past.

Rather than wait for him, she crosses the room to throw away the rest of her lunch so that he has to wait for her. She strides back, feeling confident from anticipating his plan correctly, calming down Ino, and helping Chouji, and at last opens her mouth to speak.

“What are we doing here?”

“It was the first place I thought of,” he confesses, “students eat lunch in my room, and– Well,” he shrugs, hands in his pockets again, “I wanted to clarify something with you.”

“Okay,” Temari says, aimlessly noting the lack of foreboding she feels, “what is it?”

“I haven’t told Ino we’re going out. She’s nosy and she’s a gossip; it’d spread around the school, and then the students would know and they’d ask questions and–”

“It’s very hard to steer the conversation back to math.” She nods in understanding.

He smiles. “But Chouji knows. I’ve known him all my life; he’s my best friend.”

Temari’s smile fades, just a setting or two. “I really didn’t know Ino knew you. We met on the first day, also in the teacher’s lounge.” Ignoring the voice in her head whispering predictions about the teacher’s lounge and its possible future setting for other important things, she goes on. “I like her. She’s chatty, but it’s nice. She also doesn’t take anyone’s shit.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Shikamaru admits, “known her all my life too.”

“Wow,” this time the brightness setting on her smile falls to zero, “that’s lucky.”

Shikamaru nods, “Yeah.”

But based on the fact that he doesn’t say anything else after, Temari thinks he was speaking just to speak, not because he had anything more to say. He doesn’t want to talk about Ino.

“I haven’t told anyone, but I’m new in town, so no one to tell.”

“No family?” He asks.

It’s a loaded question for her, and the tone of his voice treats it like one.

She skips pretenses. “How’d you guess?”

“Your students call you ‘Miss Temari’. No last name. That implies estrangement from one’s family.” His face is serious, confident in his conclusions– not that he shouldn’t be; they’re all right.

“That’s why you stopped Ino from asking if I had any younger siblings.”

He nods. His eyes are burning a warm brown. The longer she stares at him, the hotter she feels. There’s an intense, but gentle feeling to this, to _him_ that she could get used to.

Her hand extends, reaching for his arm. She opens her mouth to say thank you again, but nothing comes out. This close to him, it’s hard to concentrate on anything she wants to say, but this is getting ridiculous–

Wait, when had they gotten closer?

Maybe she opened her mouth for a different reason. People do more than talk with lips and tongues, after all.

People kiss, too.

She takes an extra-long moment to blink, having had to will herself to open her eyes again at all, distracted by the warmth radiating, more powerfully, from where her hand touches his arm. Her heart’s pounding in her ears, but she can’t hear anything; all her senses are focused on Shikamaru, and since he’s not taking, her ears do not work.

“Any family for you?” She asks, the words tumbling out of her mouth sloppily, uncontrolled, in an effort to detain this moment so she finds the strength to pull away.

“Parents,” is his one-word response, “only child.”

Being an only child, Temari thinks, sounds nice.

“It–” She tries, “I’m not–”

His hand reaches up, the backs of his fingers carefully touching her cheek.

She shivers without moving an inch, eyes locked on his. Her breathing has calmed down, but her heart is going as fiercely as ever, and with nothing left in her brain for her to say, she gives in. And her eyes slip shut.

She can feel his breath on her face.

“Mr. Nara!” A sudden shout shatters the moment in half, right down the middle.

Both of them jump back three feet, both red in the face. Shikamaru runs into the paper-cutter, knocking it off the table with the force with which his butt knocks into the table.

Temari’s smiling, already opening her mouth when the door is actually knocked on. “Mr. Nara! I need help with the homework!”

She recovers, clasping her hands in front of her. “Sounds like you’re needed.”

“I could–” He starts, then seems to think better of it. He smiles back, “Yeah. See you later.”

“See you,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

It’s no difficult feat to read the hesitation in the way Shikamaru’s backs up and leaves, even if she _does_ have some kind of talent for reading him easily.

“Elliot,” his voice says, “I’m glad you read the sign this time.”

Smiling to herself, Temari takes a moment by herself in the department office to straighten the paper cutter so it’s less likely to fall off the table. It _is_ a good thing Elliot knocked, but not just because he’d have walked in on two teachers kissing. She needs to get her head on straight in time for Friday night, and she only has the rest of today and tomorrow to do it.

–

By the time sixth period rolls around, Temari’s heart has settled back into its usual rhythm.

“Are there any questions on this section?” She asks, and when no one’s hands go up she turns to the whiteboard to begin erasing. Humming lightly, it takes her no more than a few seconds to finish.

“Great, then I think you guys are ready for the test tomorrow. Class is dismissed early, if no one has any more questions.”

No one does, so her students file out of the room, muttering about the exam and how they think it’s going to be hard, she’s sure. Not that she listens. Shikamaru is lecturing next door, and she can only hear his voice if she concentrates.

It’s a nice voice. He’s got a nice smile and a nice voice, and tomorrow night is either going to be the best thing she’s done in a while, or the worst.

–

Friday, Temari gives the test four periods out of six. One is her prep period and one is a different class. She lectures during her geometry section, but her prep period and her lunch is spent grading exams. She prides herself on how efficiently she grades her tests, and since tonight she’s going to be busy, she has to do it now.

Maybe her motives are a little complicated, not seeing him so much for a day is going to clear her head, she’s sure, get her better prepared to deal with him tonight, especially since it’ll be in a different setting, but the end results will be well worth it.

She even stays late, giving herself the extra time to finish grading so she isn’t thinking about the exams tonight. She finally leaves the school around five, still with two hours to spare.

Her remaining time is spent taking a shower, blow-drying her hair, trying on six different outfits before choosing one she feels most comfortable in, and trying to remember how to go on dates, especially with men she seems to like more than she should for knowing him for a few days.

Pulling into the parking lot, she wonders if he’s already here. Is he the kind of person who thinks 7 means 7:15 is okay? Or is he the kind of person, like she is, who arrives at 6:50? Is his car already here? Was he annoyed for not letting him drive her?

Does she _care_ if he’s annoyed? She has a very good reason for not wanting him to see where she lives, after all, and if he can’t handle that she doesn’t know what she’s doing being here in the first place. And besides that, she _likes_ driving. It calms her down. And calmness is something she needs right now.

The restaurant, his choice since the only place she’s been besides school is the grocery store down the street, comes into view and Temari’s heart leaps again into her throat. She thinks, mildly, that it’s a reaction she should expect now, that she should appreciate it through the discomfort because of what it represents: excitement.

She feels mild disappointment that it doesn’t take a long time to find a parking spot. But she pulls into it nonetheless, shifts the car into park, and exhales.

She’s excited. She’s _happy_ to see him, happy to start this with him and see where it goes– if it’s anything like their encounters since he asked her out have been, it’ll be good. She’ll feel good every time she sees him, and since she teaches right next door to him, that will be often. And that’s not counting anything they do outside of school.

With another exhale, slightly shaky this time, she leaves the sanctity of her car. She makes sure to stand tall, head held high and shoulders back, the picture of grace and confidence.

Not that it matters, because he isn’t here yet.

She sags, entirely too much because of a _man_ , and moves to lean against the wall until Shikamaru arrives. Assuming he’s going to arrive, that is. What if he doesn’t? He might have had car trouble, or fallen asleep grading exams, or maybe he plain-old forgot.

Even if it was a better worst case scenario and he hadn’t _meant_ to stand her up, she is sure they could never start this again if he didn’t show up tonight. She’d be too embarrassed. She’d have to avoid him for her own good, her own sanity.

Either that, _or_ she’d see him in the hallway and lose it, kiss him in front of everyone with absolutely _no_ regard to who was watching. Which isn’t something she’d mind, she realizes. But the waiting until Monday, when, if he showed up tonight, would only be waiting a few hours is the worst part.

“Miss?” Asks the hostess, leaning around the podium. “Are you here to join a party?”

“No,” Temari says, “I’d like to put my name down, though. Temari, table for two.”

“Of course,” the hostess smiles, “it’ll be fifteen minutes or so.”

“Thank you,” Temari says politely, adjusting the skirt of her dress. It’s a little tight, and while it’s not unlike what she usually wears to school, tonight is different. Tonight she dressed with the knowledge in mind that he was going to be _looking_. And dressing for someone to look at you is quite different from dressing for yourself.

She falls back into her thoughts, pulling out her cellphone again and again, every time she can’t stand not knowing what time it is for another second.

Realistically, he’s not even _late_ yet.

When her screen shows _7:01_ pm, though, he technically is late. She just refrains from crossing her arms, as she isn’t one to usually give in to childish displays, and switches her feet instead. The bottom of her heel rests against the wall.

She’s been people-watching, and in the nine minutes she’s been inside the restaurant she’s managed to become bored of every table she can easily watch from her vantage point. There’s a few couples, a family with young kids, an elderly couple, and a guy, about her age, that seems to be waiting for someone too.

He catches her eye just then, and she offers a sympathetic smile. If luck were on their sides, neither of them would get stood up tonight.

She’s semi-startled by a whirlwind of air, the slamming of the front door, and a person running past her.

“I’m late,” explains the man, “I need to find– well, my date. The person I’m supposed to be on a date with tonight. Is she here? Do you know?”

The hostess blinks, takes a moment to respond. “Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes, under Nara. But she didn’t _know_ that. I was supposed to be here before her.” His voice changes drastically, as if a horrible thought has just occurred to him. “Did she leave? Did a blonde woman leave? Did you see anyone leave?”

“I don’t think so, sir. Have you checked–”

But Shikamaru isn’t paying attention; he’s scanning beyond the hostess for Temari.

She lets him sweat for a few moments longer, but in the end it’s the fact that she can’t keep her laughter to herself that makes her exhibit mercy.

“Shikamaru,” she calls clearly, amused smile painting her lips.

He turns around, relief dawning, like a new wave, across his face. “Temari.”

Her smile brightens and she walks forward, coming to stand by his side. “You did a reservation? I did one too.” She laughs, just a little. “I’m sorry,” she leans forward slightly, addressing the hostess, “would you cancel the reservation under ‘Temari’? I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“It’s alright,” says the hostess, who seems barely able to keep her amusement to herself. Checking her list, she looks back at the pair of them with a bright smile of her own. “The table under ‘Nara’ is ready right now. Please follow me.”

Temari follows. Shikamaru’s footsteps go along behind her, stomps compared to her steps.

This time, she doesn’t give him the opportunity to pull out her chair for her. She does it for herself, and sits gracefully down, crossing her right leg over her left.

“You made it,” she comments once he’s sat as well.

“I hope you’re not mad,” Shikamaru says, “I had car trouble.”

“It was a minute,” she shrugs, “it’s fine.”

“I swear I didn’t mean to be late,” he goes on though she’s already said she isn’t angry, as though he is genuinely apologetic. Almost _too_ apologetic. “Were you waiting long?”

“No,” says Temari, even though the nine excruciating minutes she stood by the door felt like a small eternity, “and anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’re here now.” The thoughtless words elicit a pretty blush to stain her cheeks.

“I promise I won’t be late again,” he continues, opening his menu–she takes it as a sign that he’s relaxing. “ _If_ we do this again.” She can see him carefully try not to look at her.

She wishes he would, though. He might smile back at her if he looked. “Good,” is all she says, “I’m never late. It’s good to hear you also prize punctuality.”

“Actually,” he confesses, looking at her again, “I usually don’t. For work, I do, and for _this_ I wanted to. But I’m not usually all that punctual.”

Since it’s something so important to her, being on time, being early, she expects a wave of disappointment to hit her. But it doesn’t come. Because he was _honest_ with her.

“My family, back in Japan,” he’s saying, “own a deer farm in the Nara prefecture. If you didn’t guess from my last name. So I don’t eat deer meat out of respect.”

Temari nods, cutting her steak. “But is it just deer meat you don’t eat? You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I like fish too much to be a vegetarian.”

“I actually can’t stand fish,” she admits, “just in soup where I don’t have to taste it.”

He snorts indelicately. “I grew up with fish, so I can’t not eat it. Parents are Japanese-American, so it was a huge part of their diet.”

“My dad was Japanese,” she says casually, putting another piece of steak in her mouth.

“Was?” Shikamaru asks, as though he did so before he could stop himself. “Shit. I’m sorry. Forget I asked.”

“It’s alright,” she says after a moment, still studying him even as she speaks, “it’s an expected question. Especially on a first date. You go on a date with someone to decide if you want a relationship with them, and if you do, then– they’re going to know some personal things about you. I expected this. It’s okay.”

Straightening up, she forces the words from her mouth. “My dad is dead. Mom too.”

“Oh,” Shikamaru says, “I’m sorry. But– That’s a good thing for me. Now I can’t ever meet your dad and have him terrify me to within an inch of my life.”

“That’s true,” Temari amends. _And he’d have done it too_. “What about your parents?”

“Got both of ‘em still,” he nods, “but my dad won’t try to terrify you within an inch of your life. Probably.”

She laughs, just a little. She’d probably laugh more, but she doesn’t want to talk about her dad, her parents, or his parents–anyone’s parents, really. She’s on this date for _him_ , not his family.

“Are you done eating?” She asks.

When he nods, she waves over the waiter for the check. He promises to be back with it soon, and nods, thanks him, and reaches for her purse. It’s thoughtless, setting her debit card on the table.

She’s busy rumagging around for her chapstick, so she misses the look on Shikamaru’s face.

“Actually…”

“What?” She says, suspicion creeping up her spine. She’s afraid he’s going to ask more questions about her dad.

“You…” He exhales. “I’m going to sound like an ass, but I don’t know how to say this without sounding like an ass.” Turning his eyes to her, he says, “I’m a man. The man pays.”

“Oh,” she says, too surprised to even consider getting irritated. “I mean, if you’re really insistent about it.” She can’t help but think that he might not be if he knew about the fortune her father had left her, but she doesn’t _think_ it counts as being dishonest. Surely there was some kind of rule that you didn’t have to spill your guts about your fucked up family on the first date, and that it was forgivable if you kind of sort of lied about them?

“I am,” he nods, handing her card back to her.

She takes it, immediately putting it safely back in her wallet.

“Thanks,” he says, “for being cool about it. Some women aren’t.”

She asks before she can stop herself. “Oh, you’ve dated a lot of women, then? Kept tabs on whether or not they made a fuss over you paying, have you?”

“What? No. That’s not what I said… Hang on.” Shikamaru stops, eyebrows raising as his mouth quirks up into a smirk. “You’re jealous. Of imaginary women I have never dated.”

“You’re _dreaming_ ,” she counters, crossing her arms with a scoff. “I’m just not the kind of woman who dates a lot of men, and if you’re kind of man who dates a lot of women, then…” She trails off. _There’s_ the disappointment she was expecting earlier. He was interesting, he excited her, but if she was just another in a long line…

“I’m not.” He tells her, drawing her back to look at him again just by his tone. “You’re the first woman I’ve dated since college.”

Gone as quickly as it had come, the disappointment dissolves in her chest. “Sorry,” she apologizes, “that probably was uncomfortable for you to say, and I’m sure that sounded weird coming from me. I just…”

He waits, surprisingly patient.

“I like you.” Temari says. “I liked you fast. That never happens to me.” Her candor has been known to get her into trouble, but this time it just produces a smile.

“Same. It’s… This is new for me too.”

The waiter comes back then, interrupting them both before anyone can say something else embarrassing, with the check. Shikamaru puts down cash, Temari leaves the tip, and she stands. It seems to be some kind of cue, because he rises to his feet as well.

Even with her heels, he’s taller than her. He’s gangly, a lot of sinewy muscle she can’t quite notice under the button down, with kind eyes and an angular face that she couldn’t help but notice before. He’s handsome.

She doesn’t realize she’s blushing before he comments on it, reaching a hand out for her forehead.

“Are you okay?” He asks. “Are you feeling sick?”

“What? No, I’m fine…” She trails off, noticing the genuine worry in his eyes. “Shikamaru…” She shakes her head, develops a fresh smile. “It’s a blush. I’m blushing. You look good.”

His cheeks pinken too, and he looks away from her briefly. “I meant to say earlier,” he starts, looking back at her, “you look good in that dress.”

It’s dark blue and isn’t shy about hugging her legs. She wore it because she had a theory, and his comment, but more so the way his eyes trail down her frame, confirms it. _He’s a legs man._

“We should leave,” Temari says, breaking the eye contact by turning around. She leaves the _before something inappropriate for public happens_ in her head.

His footsteps are as loud as ever as they walk out, but somehow she’s still surprised when he grabs her hand almost the second they’re out the door.

“Temari, I…”

She turns, forced to tilt her head because of how close he is to her now.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since… But I haven’t had the courage to…”

His other hand reaches for her cheek, just like it did yesterday, fingers curled and gentle on her skin.

She realizes he’s leaning, that her own eyes are closing, because the truth is they’ve _both_ almost kissed each other twice. It wasn’t him after her. And he needs to realize it.

There’s only one thing to do, Temari concludes.

With the last seconds of being able to see, she grabs his collar and pulls his face down to hers.

There’s a second where Temari feels like she’s in a thunderstorm. Like she actually _might be_ a thunderstorm. Electricity crackles along her lips when he kisses back, sucking just lightly on her top lip.

It’s a short kiss, certainly mostly public appropriate, but upon pulling back she realizes she’s now completely in his arms. Though it is nighttime, the brightness of the restaurant’s neon sign feels harsh and she can only open her eyes half way.

“One more,” she says, but she doesn’t have time to do more than close her eyes before his lips are on hers.

She fares slightly better this time, having been able to wrap her arms around his neck and trace his lip with her tongue. Something she did, though, seems to have pushed a button. She’s pretty sure it was when she arched her hips in her attempt to stretch herself, to put her mouth closer to his, because he pushed her back and her back hit the wall.

He seems to have leverage just as she does now, what with how his kissing increases in ferocity. Her counter is to lift her leg, wrap her ankle around his calf.

She goes to lift the other one, having forgotten her understanding of physics, when she finds that she can’t. And it’s not for the fact that she’d have fallen–his arms are around her quite tightly. It’s for the fact that her heel is stuck.

“What–” She says, breaking the kiss to actually _focus_ on lifting her foot. But it won’t come.

“Gum,” he says, causing her to lift her eyes back to his face. He doesn’t look like he’s having much luck resisting whatever urges he’s feeling right now, but he seems to step back to help himself out with thinking.

“ _Really_?” She groans, lifting her foot out of her heel altogether. She goes to bend to forcibly lift her heel, but Shikamaru’s already behind her.

“I got it,” he says, and though there’s a second of hesitation where his breath ghosts over her neck, he does yank her heel out of the gum for her.

“You’re a gentleman,” she observes, comfortable saying it now that he’s done so much to indicate it.

“I try to be,” he shrugs, handing it back to her by the strap.

Figuring it’s ridiculous to stand in one shoe, she takes the other one off as well. “Where’s your car?” She asks. “Not that I _want_ you to leave, but I’d prefer to be barefoot in someone’s car rather than the dirty sidewalk.”

“It’s… not here.” He admits, sheepishly offering her a shrug. “Chouji dropped me off.”

“ _This_ was your car trouble?” She laughs.

“Yeah. I don’t really drive, even. Just when Chouji’s hurt. I had to rush him to the ER once with indigestion at three am.” His face is grim with the statement.

“On a school night?” She guesses.

He nods.

“That’s rough.”

He nods again, smiling a bit. “Let me call Chouji. I’ll tell him to come get me.”

“No.” Temari says, a bit forcefully. Clearing her throat, she means to amend the statement. “I mean, I’ll just drive you. I happen to drive a lot. It’s one of my favorite things to do. There’s no need for Chouji to come here again.” He seems hesitant, so she adds. “I don’t mind, really. I already graded all my exams?”

“Seriously? But your test was _today_.” He sounds impressed.

She grins. “I’m a fast grader.”

“Mine was Wednesday and I’m still not done,” he confesses, following her to her car. “But I hate grading.” She opens her mouth to teasingly say _I already knew that_ , but at the same time he adds, “But you already knew that.”

She smiles, just a little, and clicks the beeper for her car. “Hold on,” she says, and he stops in his tracks to turn to her. Standing on her tip toes, Temari rests a hand on his chest to kiss him again.

Less intense than the previous one, but still enjoyable, she pulls back after only a few seconds. “Okay, we can go now.”

He grins for the briefest of moments before they part ways to get into her car.

“Black,” he observes, “nice.”

“It’s sleek,” she says, “sporty.”

He nods. “It suits you. Chouji drives a station wagon.”

Temari snorts, loud enough that she can’t hear the engine start.

It turns out Shikamaru lives sort of far from the restaurant, at least farther than she does. As he’s telling her where to go, she can’t help but wonder if she’ll get out of the car at this apartment.

“So, how did you know about that place? It’s sort of far.”

“It is,” he agrees, “but I live close to the school. So it evens out pretty well. At least I think so.”

“Yeah. I wish I lived closer to school. But it’s almost thirty minutes for me.”

“It’s five for me,” he teases, “I can leave at seven-thirty and be on time.”

She pretends to gasp in mock affront. “I leave _before_ seven. That’s just not fair.”

He smiles easily, which she knows because she steals a glance at him. She shouldn’t, she should be focusing on the road, but she does. And the two seconds she gives herself to look at Shikamaru and his nice smile are unquestionably worth the foolishness.

“Maybe you’ll move closer,” Shikamaru’s voice is strange suddenly, but there’s some idiot on a bike cutting through the middle of the street ahead of her, so she can’t risk looking at his face, “if you stay here long enough.”

“I might,” she agrees, waving off his tone. She has no proof to back it up, after all, and he speaks so suddenly  that she forgets.

“Here, turn onto that side street. And then a right on the second street, and it’s the sixth house on the left.”

She follows his instructions, smiling just a little to herself–the only noise in the world seems to be the low hum of her vehicle, and it’s perfectly comfortable.

“It was nice,” she blurts before she loses her nerve, pulling up to the aforementioned building, “the date.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and with the click of her keys that sets the car to idle, she can finally look at him.

He’s still smiling.

She has to bite back the _I hope we can do it again_ that wants to badly to break through her resistance, but the veiled question in there is too much for tonight, too much after the date–or rather how fun the date was and how comfortable it is to sit in silence with him. She needs some distance, for her own good.

“Do you, um,” his hand lifts to the back of his neck again, “want to come in?”

“Yeah,” she smiles at him, all the doubts flying out of her head, “I do.”

Aware that her heart has started racing, she turns away from him rather abruptly and slides out of the driver’s seat. The car locks behind her, the quiet _beep beep_ feels something like ominous–it’s a word she can’t place, but it’s not an unpleasant feeling–echoes in the still night air.

“It’s through here,” he says, eyes catching on hers a moment before he turns back around–presumably to not hit his head on the staircase above them, which he just barely misses.

She trains her eyes on the back of his head, half watching for another hand to lift to his neck and half to be sure that, if he looks at her again, she looks back. His place is nearly the last in the first floor unit, rather far from the street. She supposes it’s quiet like that, but then the thought branches off and she wonders if she chose that on purpose, or did it just happen to be the only unit available, does he like the quiet, can he not sleep if it’s too loud?

She waits, almost demurely, behind him while he fishes his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door. “Chouji?” Shikamaru calls as they walk through.

“Figures,” she mutters, “you’d live with Chouji.” Her pounding heart beat has turned into nervousness.

“Ino’d live here too if we’d let her,” he comments without looking at her, striding forward and sticking his head into what she presumes is the kitchen, based on the edge of the refrigerator she sees peeking out.

Shikamaru slinks back out, hands in his pockets now, for some reason attempting to look anywhere but at her face. “Chouji isn’t here,” he reports. Were it not for the fact that he’s still walking toward her, she would be concerned something awful had just occurred to him.

“So, we can… If you want, I mean, we don’t _have to_ – I don’t _need_ – It would be fine if– It’s whatever _you_ –”

He’s close enough to her know that she can save him the embarrassment of swallowing his own tongue in panic. She tosses her purse away from her–it lands somewhere she doesn’t bother to notice–and puts her hands on his chest so he’ll look at her.

“Shikamaru–”

But his eyes meet hers, and she’s entirely unprepared for the intensity within them. It’s clear now–he must _know_ what his eyes are capable of; he wasn’t looking at her for her own benefit. Because now that he has, she’s having trouble blinking. Looking away is completely out of the question.

“I…” She tries to speak around the strong magnetic force pulling her to him, only in the broadest sense aware of her feet inching across the space between them. “It’s…”

She has one startling moment of clarity when his hands come to touch her hips, and then everything disappears completely when their mouths meet.

She’s a non-sentient being, nothing more than an energy signature of pleasure in no time at all. He takes a few steps back, blind instinct driving him to find something he can push against without losing her, and she follows immediately. The back of her knees hit the couch and she stops, forced to grip him more tightly so she doesn’t fall. Which results in a most _intoxicating_ angle to make out from, all hip bones and chests that she happily stays in as long as she is able.

But her legs give out and she manages to sit this time, giving him no chance to pull away by grabbing his collar and pulling him with her. His knees land on either side of her hips, but he’s still too far. Her height is in her legs and her comparatively shorter torso has actually increased the distance between their mouths.

She lies down and he comes with her, hands moving from her hips to support himself by pushing against the couch. His lower body, however, has lost the support of his knees and everything south of his ribcage joins her as completely horizontal.

Not really aware of what she’s doing, much less the sounds she’s making, she breaks the kiss at last, takes a mighty gulp of air, and arches her neck to lay kisses across his throat.

The sounds _he’s_ making, however, she’s very aware of, and the one he makes when her lips tug at the lobe of his ear makes all of her shiver. The _groan_ , unequivocally masculine, incites an instinct within her to arch her hip. Something ancient, something that started the human race, that’s probably called _friction_ but she can’t quite remember results from the motion, her pelvis rubbing against his.

She moans, impressively loudly given the breathlessness of every single cell in her body, and he groans, quiet but low, stilling completely.

Before she can gather enough breath to ask _What is it?_ , he moves, and suddenly his lips are somewhere near her collarbone, sucking. His teeth gently nip at the bone three separate times, a little clumsily, but she’s gone absolutely still herself now in an attempt to memorize every touch of his lips on her skin.

This is an all-new side to Shikamaru. His right hand pushes the shoulder of her dress away, revealing her arm and the top of her breast. His lips descend without pause, sucking now on such sensitive skin. There’s a lot more room for her to move, suddenly, so she takes advantage of it by wrapping the length of her arm across his back, and pressing a hurried kiss to the side of his face as encouragement.

Since her dress is practically falling off her now, it’s rather easy to see how her bra met his gaze. Another low groan sounds from him, her hips arch, and then Shikamaru’s mouth moves to kiss the rest of her breast.

But of course it feels ridiculous through the bra, so she unhooks it and tosses it across the room.

“Are you sure–” His voice is gruff, the words hurried and blurred together.

“Yes,” her voice is little more than a gasp. But it’s just as well, his hand on her breast would have made her moan again were she already talking.

She writhes anyway, though, which he seems to take as encouragement, and presses a single, quick kiss to her nipple.

“Aaaah,” a gasp falls out of her mouth and her back arches further. Her hands have started clawing at his shirt in their desperation to remove it. She lacks the coordination necessary to unbutton it, but her efforts are commendable nonetheless.

“I _hate_ button downs,” Shikamaru’s voice is emphatic–she truly believes he’s never hated anything as much as he hates his shirt in this moment–and he sits up, hands already moving to his sternum for the first button.

Her hands beat him there, though, and her cheeky grin is all the answer he needs. Four seconds of amazing coordination blesses her, and then the last one is undone and she pulls him back down to her, mouth against his again.

Her dress is really more of a skirt at this point, but neither her “skirt” nor his pants are doing anything to quell the heat between their bodies. Very poignant, very obvious sexual attraction is simmering between them, and she arches her spine again, driven by nothing other than the notion that it feels good to do so.

Something changes this time, though. This time, Shikamaru thrusts his hips toward hers too.

And she moans as loudly as she ever has, tearing away from their kiss to breathe into his neck. “Wow,” she breathes, slinking both arms around his back now in what resembles an embrace more than a position to make out in, “that was…”

“Amazing,” he breathes. His voice is right next to her ear, and she shivers again. It’s so low. Lower than she ever remembers hearing it. The testosterone must be _flooding_ his body right now. Just as the estrogen is flooding hers, with those moans she gave…

And this is their _first date_.

“Wait, stop, hold on, this is–”

The sudden feeling of cold chills her to the bone, a shudder entirely unpleasant wracking her, as he more or less leaps off her, chest heaving. “Temari,” he manages, “I didn’t mean to…”

“And you think I _did_?” She demands, fierce as ever, even lying down with her top off.

“No,” he exhales, “truthfully, no. I didn’t expect–”

She sits up, seizes his hand from where it’s already heading for his pocket, and places it over her left breast.

“I assume the point of this isn’t to feel you up,” he comments, watching her face attentively.

“No,” she answers patiently, “the point is my heartbeat.”

“Accelerated,” he nods, “indicating…”

“Mutual enjoyment,” she finishes for him. He sits and she reaches herself, placing her hand over his own heart. Her mouth picks up in a smile, and though her voice is still breathless, she manages to say something more. “Also indicated by your erection.”

“Yeah,” he admits, “that’s… sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says, “honestly.” She offers him a smile, and he smiles back, and they’re caught in another moment, simply smiling at each other while both of their heartbeats return to normal.

“Temari,”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been trying not to look, but my hand is still on your breast and it’s hard enough to keep looking at your face knowing you don’t have anything on, but being able to _feel_ too–”

Laughing, she removes his hand herself. “Right.”

Putting her bra on while a man watches is something she’s never done, but she figures, since it’ll be a while before he’ll see them again, she won’t say anything about it. “Better?” She asks when she’s finished.

He nods. “It is.”

“Speaking of,” she bends to the floor again, retrieving his shirt, “you should put this on, too.”

He almost says something, she can see it in his eyes, but in the end all he does is smirk and slip his arms back through the sleeves. He doesn’t button it, though.

Rolling her eyes, Temari pulls up her dress properly again. She has plans to leave the zipper down, but before she can taunt him with it for more than a second or two, he lifts it up himself.

She snorts. “That’s hardly fair.”

“You have more self-control than I do,” he says seriously, “and besides, you can walk.”

“True,” she says, unable to attempt to hide how pleased she is.

Surprising her, Shikamaru takes her hand slips his fingers between hers.

She processes the feeling for a moment, and then speaks. “I should tell you, I’m not the kind of girl who does this often.”

“I’m not either,” he confesses, nearly sheepish, “I was worried, actually, that I’d forgotten how to…”

“Kiss? No, you definitely haven’t forgotten how to kiss.” She quips, kissing him quickly for good measure.

“Good,” he exhales around his smile after she pulls back, as though he were legitimately worried he would be a bad kisser, “I was excited for tonight, Temari. I’m really happy things went well. I mean, at least, _I_ think they did–”

“They did.” She confirms, struggling for something reassuring to do for a few seconds and finally settling on squeezing his hand. “Things went very well. But I, what I was trying to say…”

He waits, studying her face intently again. She’s beginning to get used to the scrutiny and it’s been less than a week–if that doesn’t speak to how much he does it, she doesn’t know what will.

“I don’t _do this_ with people I don’t… I don’t date just to date.”

All he does it stare. For a long time. And the worry flares nastily in the pit of her stomach.

At last, he grins widely. “Are you asking me to go steady?”

A laugh bubbles out of her throat, robbing her of a few seconds of watching him look at her. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m doing. This is…”

“This is serious. Exclusive. You want this to mean something.” He finishes.

“Replace you with _I_.” She mutters.

“Better yet, with _we_.” He adds.

“And you’ve got it,” she nods, “that’s exactly right. So we’re serious. Exclusive. No dating other people, and–”

“And I can start telling people.” It comes out like a question, though she thinks he means it as a sentence, so he starts talking more. “Since I’ve got people to tell that live here, and you just have me. And I already know, obviously, so–”

She laughs–again. “Yes. But not the students. We should hide it from them, act professionally when in class and during school hours, when we see each other, we will–”

“No kissing.” He agrees immediately. “Is holding hands okay?”

“Hmmm,” she makes an exaggerated thinking sound, “I guess so. Only sometimes, though.”

“Fair enough,” he agrees, “I’m just big on holding hands so…” He offers a shrug, and now he’s definitely sheepish.

“Fair enough,” she echoes, “I’m big on texting, so.”

He makes a face, confirming her suspicions that he’s a bad texter. “Alright. I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” she shoots him a grin, and moves to get up. But before she can so much as flex a leg muscle, he’s kissing her.

By the time he pulls away, her hand is on his chest again, no shirt in the way this time, and she’s breathless again. “That,” she declares, attempting to be serious through her wide grin, “is _not_ happening at work.”

All he does is grin back at her, move to kiss her again.

This time her legs obey her immediately. But she’s laughing again. “I’m leaving now,” she tells him, “ _before_ Chouji comes home.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” he admits. He’s still sitting and he hasn’t let go of her hand, so Temari tugs, indicating that she’d like him to stand up.

“You can walk now,” she points out, bringing her eyes back to his face, “that must be nice.”

“It is,” he confirms, holding steadfast to her hand throughout her picking up her purse and the walk across the room to the front door.

She lets go for the phone number exchange, and they kiss a last time before he opens the door for her.

“Good night,” she says, moving to leave when movement catches her attention out of the corner of her eye. “Chouji!” Temari says, entirely too loudly. “Hi! I’m leaving! Good night! I– It’s nice to see you, you have a lovely home…”

Chouji grins broadly, stepping around the couple in the entryway. “Thanks. See you later, Temari. Hope you enjoyed your evening. How was the food?”

“Oh, it was–” She starts, but Shikamaru cuts her off.

“She has to go, man, she doesn’t have time to talk for twenty minutes about the restaurant.” Ignoring Chouji behind him going _But you’ll tell me how the food was, right Shikamaru?_ , he manages to smile at Temari. “Good night.”

“See you Monday,” she responds, mirroring his smile all the way until she gets back into her car. She wears it all the way home, the entire twenty-four minute drive, and even up to the front door of her own apartment. All the way until she sees the mail, _another_ letter from the lawyer, on her coffee table.

She doesn’t check it before she heads to bed, determined not to let it ruin her day.

She’ll know it’ll start like all the others, and she _refuses_ to have that be the last thing she thinks about tonight.

_Dear Miss Suna, this letter has reached you regarding the case of your father, Mr. Rasa Suna. His hearing is scheduled for the 22nd of October, and your testimony would greatly improve his chances for parole. Please get back to me as soon as you are able._

  * _Baki Suna  
    Suna Family Lawyer_




End file.
